


Eve's Hospital Visits

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 02x08, Angst, F/F, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, Tender - Freeform, after Rome, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: After the events of Rome, Villanelle disguises herself as a nurse at Eve's hospital so she can help Eve shower.--So, I don't know why this piece asked to exist. I had random inspiration for this, and I realized that it could go a ton of different directions. It ended up being a little angsty, a little hurt/comfort-y, and a little bit of an exploration of the characters' emotions after 2x08.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 36
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not a nurse, so I don't really know how any of this works. 
> 
> My sister worked in rehab in a hospital, though, so she told me that giving patients real showers would drench her in water, too. Shout out to people who do these jobs. It's intense to help patients with basic things (going to the bathroom, brushing teeth, bed baths) and it requires a lot of physical strength, as well as patience and kindness.

There is light. There is a voice. Whispering. The world sways from side to side.

“Eve, . . . Eve!”

The voice sounds familiar. It’s a lot like the one that is speaking to her in her dream. But how does it manage to say two different things at the same time?

“Eve!”

Her eyes open. Hazel ones stare back at her. A furrowed brow. Hair messily thrown into a bun. Blue, she wears light blue.

“Eve, wake up!” she whispers loudly.

She feels the pressure on her shoulders, now. Strong hands that are shaking her. And the sound of her own heart monitor.

“Vill—nelle,” she croaks, sounding drunk.

“Eve, good morning!” Villanelle cups her face. “It’s time for your shower!”

Everything in her screams “no.” This is not a dream; this is real life, and Villanelle is in her hospital room, dressed as a nurse.

_Rome. Her anger. The bullet._

“Help,” Eve says softly. Her drowsy meds are wearing off as she forces herself awake.

“Help!” she chokes, louder. Villanelle is in her room. The woman with the gun, the assassin who shot—

“HELP!!!” she screams as loud as her lungs allow her, and the sound comes from her gut because her vocal chords can hardly keep up.

A hand clamps over her mouth and she starts to cry and shake and thrash against her hospital bed, as much as she can. She doesn’t care when the pain from her wound shoots all the way down her side. _Villanelle_ is here to kill her—to finish what she started!

“Stop it! Stop shaking! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Villanelle yells at a growing, yet still-hushed volume while Eve writhes under her hands and tries to get away. Too much noise would get other nurses’ attention.

Eve opens her mouth so that Villanelle’s pinky finger dips in, then she bites down _hard_.

Villanelle silently screams in pain while holding her hand and stepping away from the hospital bed, crouching towards the floor and clamping her eyes shut.

“Get the _fuck_ away from me! Get out of my room! I never want to see your fucking face again!” Eve yells at her.

A passing nurse sees Villanelle holding her wounded hand while Eve yells at her.

“You . . . you got it okay?” the nurse asks her.

Villanelle puts on her finest British accent. “Yes, thank you so much. She’s . . . senile, but she is actually a sweetheart! She’s having a bad day, poor dear.” Villanelle looks to Eve with sympathy and pouts.

The nurse mirrors her pout and nods, reassuringly, then continues down the hall.

Once she is gone, Villanelle closes the door to Eve’s room.

Eve’s mouth falls open in surprise at how quickly Villanelle has caged her in.

Villanelle fills the space with words.

“Eve, do you want me to help you shower, or not?” She goes back over to Eve’s side, placing her hands on the side railings. “I came all the way here. I don’t appreciate you acting out like this.”

“’ _Acting out’_? You _shot_ me, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. That was thirteen weeks ago—” she hesitates, looking up and to the left. “Thirteen weeks and four days.”

Eve gasps again. She, herself, had stopped paying attention to the passing of time. She wanted time to disappear, really. Yet, Villanelle had kept track.

“Why—Why are you here?” Eve rushes out.

“I got word that you’ve been awake more. I wanted to see you. I wanted to help you shower.”

Eve would roll over, if she could. “Perv . . .” She turns her head away.

Villanelle expected that and chooses not to be offended. “Eve. Your medical record says you get to start taking real showers in the bathroom. I am strong. I can help you with this.”

“How the fuck did you get access to my medical record?!”

“I snuck a look at it after class.” She says it like it’s obvious.

“Cla—what class?” Eve’s eyes are intensely fixed on Villanelle’s, trying to get a sense of if she’s telling the truth or not.

“A nursing school class . . . How to bathe patients with critical injuries. How to know what they need and when. How to get a sense of what’s too much, when you should stop.”

The answer knocks the wind out of Eve. “I . . . did you take notes?”

Villanelle chuckles. “It’s medical school, Eve. I practiced.”

“On who?”

“On Rita. She’s an old lady— _very_ old,” she recounts. “She is getting used to her prosthetic leg, so we helped her shower—well, it was just me. I was scared to do it alone, but she talked to me a lot. She was nice to me. And now I know how to help you!”

Eve is breathless. It all seems so sweet and generous. She stares at Villanelle in awe, for a moment, then presses further. “I still don’t understand. Why did you specifically want to come here and help me shower, Villanelle?”

“I thought ab—” Villanelle chokes over a word; an emotion. She huffs and looks at the floor, then tries again. “I thought about how you would feel with strangers helping you shower. Their eyes looking all over you. I thought it should be someone who cares—” she corrects herself, not wanting to start an argument, after Rome, “—someone who you _know_ , who should be there.”

Eve thinks about her bullet wound, and about her body, and about how she would feel if Villanelle saw her in the shower (and stayed for the duration of it). She tenses up and feels a strong inclination to say no.

Villanelle practically reads her mind. “Eve, please? We can start, and if you don’t like it or you don’t feel . . . okay . . . with me being there, then I will find another nurse who can take over for me. Okay?”

Eve still isn’t sure, but she pictures the other nurses helping her shower (while she’s fully awake, this time, unlike the bed baths), and that image feels worse. For some reason, she trusts Villanelle’s promise to get a real nurse, if she feels uncomfortable.

“If those are the terms,” Eve lets out a sigh, “then okay.”

“ _’The terms_ ,’” Villanelle mocks. “How do you still manage to be so much like . . . _yourself_ , even like this?”

Eve thinks maybe she means being sassy. Or brainy. She wants to scoff, just in case it’s an insult, but she doesn’t. She just looks: down to her feet, then up at Villanelle. Because it does feel new and different, after all, to have someone that she knows in her hospital room.

“Let’s go, Eve. Let’s go. Before a _real_ doctor comes in.” She pulls a face.

She returns a nod.

“C-Can I?” Villanelle freezes, gesturing to the electrodes of the heart monitor that are strewn across Eve’s chest.

Eve nods because it’s all so sudden, now, and then she can’t help but—“ _Pffft, Nurse Astankova_.” And she starts to _laugh_ at the implication that Villanelle could fix people instead of hurt them. And she remembers that she met Villanelle in a bathroom, dressed in a similar shade of sky blue scrubs, and OW—

Villanelle tore one of the electrodes off a little too quickly, and it stings. And then it burns.

Eve gasps in pain and then steadily starts to glare at her.

“I’m sorry, Eve,” she says, fiddling with the adhesive in her hand.

Eve keeps glaring, then closes her eyes while waiting for the other electrodes to come off. She’s surprised when Villanelle peels them slowly, searching her reactions for an indication of the pain.

And then Eve is free of the chords for the first time in months. And Villanelle is hugging her, as a means of pulling her to sit upright.

“I can’t—I can’t use my right arm, at all. For anything,” Eve warns.

Villanelle nods and becomes quiet as some guilt (and some pity) wash over her. She glances at Eve’s right shoulder while she calculates how she is going to do everything.

“Put your arm around me,” Villanelle says, and it’s Eve’s left arm.

Villanelle puts a supportive arm around Eve’s back, and before long, Eve is standing, for the first time in a long time.

Eve tries to shuffle across the room with Villanelle’s support, one foot in front of the other, but she is incredibly weak. Her muscles hardly want to carry her, after lying down for two months.

Villanelle sees her knee threaten to give out and makes a swift, instinctive decision. She leans down, making sure Eve is still leaning her upper body against her, then hooks her arm under Eve’s legs and picks her up.

“You can do physical therapy with real doctors, but today,…” she adjusts her grip under Eve’s legs, practically tossing her in the air and catching her, “…today, you will relax and do the easy stuff.”

Eve lets her right arm dangle, as she grasps onto Villanelle’s shoulder with her left. And just like that, they’re off, and Villanelle’s few steps to the bathroom are a lot quicker than her own would have been.

Villanelle sets her down in the bathroom, giving her a wall to lean against. She closes the bathroom door. Doesn’t lock it, in case anything goes wrong and she needs to quickly call for help. Then, she turns back to Eve and looks at her hospital gown, as if she’s figuring out how to ask if she can take it.

“I can . . . Let me do it myself,” Eve says.

Villanelle nearly blushes in sympathy for Eve’s shyness. But she keeps her face from expressing anything, only giving a small nod.

“I will turn this way,” she tells Eve, “but if you need help, you will need to tell me.” The last thing she needs is for Eve to fall on the tile floor, just because she was feeling modest.

Eve agrees. When Villanelle turns, she decides to take her underwear off, first, since her gown will cover all of her for the last few moments of being clothed.

She scoots them down her legs with no problem, but when she raises her leg to step out of them, she trips on them and nearly falls. (Her underwear. She trips on her _underwear_ , for god’s sake.)

Arms circle around her stomach and hold her upright, before she even has the chance to utter a plea for help.

Villanelle silently supports Eve with one arm while using her other hand to take the garment from around her ankles, one at a time. And Eve spends the time wondering if this is all too gross, all too _human_. She feels dirty. She was sweating in her hospital bed, many nights, whether it was because of the temperature, or a fever, or her nightmares. So, the thought of Villanelle handling her two, unkempt pieces of clothing is all too much, and the embarrassment makes her want to disappear entirely. She waits for any commentary, for any reaction from Villanelle. And when it doesn’t come—when Villanelle wordlessly throws the underwear into a corner without any change in her expression—she is surprised and relieved.

Eve lets out a breath when Villanelle’s attention returns to her. The hospital gown needs to come off, now, or it never will.

“You should get it over with. It’ll be easier.” She searches for more words, uncomfortably blowing air out of her mouth and looking to the ceiling and the floor for answers. “I won’t judge. I think you’re . . . incredible.”

Eve can’t wrap her mind around that. Around how she can be sweaty, smelly, dirty, unable to walk, unable to take her own clothes off of herself, and still the word “incredible” leaves Villanelle’s mouth.

So, she nods in surrender and faces back towards her support wall, and she looks to the floor while Villanelle goes behind her and undoes the small buttons of her hospital gown. She complies when Villanelle wants her to shrug her left arm out, first, and when she drags the whole gown down, over her lifeless right arm and down her legs. She steps out of the gown and suddenly feels too cold and too exposed, but the word “incredible” floats around in her mind like the promise of nonjudgment that Villanelle had promised.

“Are you okay?” Villanelle tries when Eve won’t budge from the wall she faces.

“Yes, I’m just . . . I’m just acclimating,” she replies, softly.

“Okay. Can I carry you to the chair in the shower?”

Eve sighs. She will have to move away from her protective wall. She will have to get used to this. “H-How . . .”

“Exactly like before,” Villanelle says, reassuringly. She’s figured everything out, already.

“Okay,” Eve whispers with a small nod.

Her left arm goes around Villanelle’s shoulders and Villanelle scoops her up, just like before.

Villanelle carries her to the shower chair and sets her down. She blushes, momentarily, and Eve catches her moment of weakness, giving her an inquisitive look.

“I’m s—you’re . . . you’re beautiful,” Villanelle breathes.

Eve only nods and folds her arm across her chest, but she isn’t upset by the compliment.

Villanelle absorbs her reaction, momentarily frozen by the softness she sees in Eve’s eyes, then she turns and quickly pulls on the shower handle, turning it on.

She picks up the detachable shower head and puts her hand under the running water. Then she has Eve test it.

“Your arm?” Villanelle asks.

Eve obliges by putting her wrist under the running water.

“Is it warm enough? Too warm?”

“It’s great,” Eve says, reveling in how good the water feels on her skin and how much she didn’t realize she was missing this.

With that alone, Eve knows she will be taken care of better by Villanelle than by a nurse, who might not have asked for her preference on the water temperature.

“Where should we start?” Villanelle asks, letting her choose how this goes.

“My hair,” Eve replies. She doesn’t hesitate. She has thought about having her hair washed for the last seven days, since one of the nurses last washed her hair in bed.

Villanelle walks around the back of the chair and starts to wet Eve’s hair. She sprays the water from the top of Eve’s head down to the ends of her hair, while Eve leans her head back. When the time comes, she has Eve hold the shower head (who eagerly lets the hot water warm her body). She takes a good amount of shampoo and starts to work it through Eve’s hair.

“Is this okay? Do you need anything?” Villanelle asks, hesitant and suddenly shy.

“It’s . . . good. It feels good. Thank you.” She keeps her eyes closed so nothing gets in her eyes.

Villanelle is practically breathless as she runs her hands through Eve’s hair. It’s beautiful, and she can’t believe she is able to touch it. She scrubs at Eve’s scalp with her fingertips, knowing it must be appreciated, since the showers are so few and far between. Eve’s relaxed breaths give her encouragement that she is doing a good job.

She takes the showerhead back from Eve and rinses her hair, then hands it back.

Villanelle puts a lot of conditioner in her hands. “What do I . . . how do I do this?” she asks Eve, knowing her curly hair may need something different.

“Oh, um. If you could cover it completely and run your fingers through a few times, that would be great. It doesn’t have to be perfect because well, . . . I’m just going back to bed.”

Eve realizes that the other nurses probably wouldn’t ask how to treat her curly hair, either, unless she was lucky.

Villanelle does her best of coating all of the hair in conditioner and combing it through with her fingers. She tosses stray hairs to the shower floor and nearly gasps in awe at how Eve’s hair forms ringlet curls under this type of treatment.

“Eve,” she squeaks out, again, “you’re beautiful.”

Eve chuckles slightly. Her cheeks are quickly painted with a deep pink blush, but she hopes Villanelle doesn’t notice.

Villanelle rinses the conditioner from her hair and grabs a wash cloth from the corner of the shower, coating it with plenty of body wash.

“You . . . you do this part,” Villanelle says, shyly. She takes the shower head from Eve, in exchange for the wash cloth, and she faces the corner.

Eve makes sure Villanelle’s eyes are firmly focused on the wall and then uses her good arm to run the cloth over all of her. She moves quickly, out of fear for Villanelle suddenly turning around, or something.

“I’m done,” Eve manages, throwing her arm back over her soap-covered torso.

Villanelle turns to her and takes the wash cloth, tossing it into the corner of the floor for staff to take, later.

When Eve reaches to take the shower head back, Villanelle hesitates.

“What is it?” Eve asks.

“C-Can I? Can I do it? You can say no,” she nearly blushes, keeping her eyes fixed on Eve’s.

Eve doesn’t know why everything in her says ‘yes.’ She doesn’t realize that the tenderness is something she needs to heal. She doesn’t understand how badly she’s actually wanted affection of any kind, ever since she was picked up off of the ground, in Rome.

“Okay,” she says, simply, with a confident nod.

When Villanelle runs the water over her legs, first, and passes her own hand over Eve’s knee. The tenderness causes words to spill from Eve.

“Why now?” Eve asks, suddenly so serious.

Villanelle stops what she was doing and rests her hand on Eve’s knee, frozen.

“Why did you take thirteen weeks? I . . . I keep having these awful nightmares, and I wish that—”

“—Nightmares about me?” Villanelle asks, softly.

She takes a long pause, wondering how Villanelle can possibly look so soft and wounded, crouching over her bare legs, when _she’s_ the one who is naked.

“Yes,” she huffs, looking over Villanelle’s shoulder, at the wall. “I keep dreaming about it. About all the words that were said before you . . .” (“ _shot me_ ,” she cannot say). “They play in my head, over and over, and there’s no way—” she chokes over a sudden sob “—to make them stop.”

“Which part?” Villanelle asks, her own eyes becoming glossy.

“All of it! You made me kill Raymond and you said all of these things to me and then you . . .—How could you?! I could have _died_ , out there! I _hate_ —”

She stops speaking, suddenly, as she sees Villanelle practically recoil, with a few tears rolling down her own cheeks. She practically hears the ‘ _I love you’_ resounding in Villanelle’s mind.

Eve corrects herself. “I don’t. I don’t _hate_ you. It’s just . . .”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.” Villanelle states it so simply. So matter-of-fact. Void of emotions, now.

Villanelle doesn’t even notice how she’s accidentally turned the running water onto her own leg, soaking the ankle of her scrubs.

“I mean,” Eve sighs, “I stabbed you, too. You could have died.”

Villanelle remembers the pain and what it was like to put sanitary pads and alcohol on her own wound. She remembers her fevers and her lack of painkillers.

“I liked it, Eve. It was from you,” she says, simply. She accidentally brushes her hand over Eve’s knee with tenderness.

Villanelle and Eve stare at each other, for a while, but Villanelle flinches when she realizes she’s been soaking her own ankle with water. She gathers herself and stands back up, going back to rinsing soap off of Eve’s legs, and then her arms.

“I don’t hate you,” Eve repeats, quietly, when the silence becomes too heavy. She searches for Villanelle’s eye contact but cannot find it, as Villanelle works diligently and ignores her—to protect herself, probably.

Villanelle finishes the task at hand, then hangs the shower head back up and shuts the water off. She stays facing the wall for a minute while she slowly says, “I’m sorry I shot you. I’m sorry you can’t use your arm. I’m sorry you’ve been hospitalized for this long. That’s—that’s not what I . . . wanted to happen.”

Eve wants to lash out and ask about “what Villanelle _did_ want to happen,” but Villanelle’s apology feels genuine. She absorbs as much of it as she can.

Villanelle turns back towards Eve and they look at each other for a while—Eve with sympathy and so many questions etched into her expression, and Villanelle solemnly, for a while, but then melting into something with more sadness.

The silent conversation only ends when Eve starts to shiver. Arms still splayed across her chest, the cool air and her still-dripping hair overwhelm her.

Villanelle can’t stand by while Eve is cold. She quickly grabs a towel and unfolds it for Eve, holding it out and gesturing for her to stand. When Eve stands and leans against Villanelle’s shoulder for support, Villanelle wraps the towel fully around her. She holds the ends together and shifts it around until Eve can grab it and hold it up for herself.

Only what happens, then, is that Eve grabs the towel and leans her forehead against Villanelle’s shoulder. She fully rests into Villanelle with a sigh. With tears forming in her eyes, again. Feeling possibly the smallest and most vulnerable, compared to any other events of that day.

“Come here,” Villanelle whispers, wrapping both of her arms around the other woman, being careful not to press down on any sensitive areas. She hugs Eve against herself and feels Eve’s gentle sniffles against her scrub shirt, as she cries.

Villanelle gathers Eve’s wet hair from under the towel, laying it on top, and she pays attention to Eve’s stitches, now that she’s not occupied with other priorities. She traces them with her eyes. She wonders how deep it goes. She wonders how much it hurts for Eve to move her back. She wants to say something—anything to Eve, but her apology gets trapped within when she realizes she already apologized and was met with silence.

“Let me dry your hair, Eve,” she offers, instead. Tears sting her own eyes as she speaks to the still-sobbing woman.

Eve nods into Villanelle’s dampened shoulder.

Villanelle lifts her off the ground and takes her back to the dry chair. She wordlessly sets Eve down and grabs a second towel. She settles behind Eve and wraps Eve’s hair in the towel, squeezing out the excess water.

At some point, Eve stops crying and only sniffles.

“Thank you—” Eve starts.

“—Hmm?” Villanelle asks in surprise.

“Thank you . . . for coming here to help me shower,” Eve says.

Villanelle nearly gasps, but only continues her task with patience.

“It’s the least I can do,” she finally says.

Villanelle discards the towel, finds fresh hospital clothes for Eve, and manages to dress Eve in such a way that she isn’t any more uncomfortable then the rest of it has been.

She carries Eve for the last time, trying to watch her step and nearly tripping when she notices that Eve’s eyes are locked on her own.

When she sets Eve down on the bed, anchoring her so she can lie back onto it, Eve says, “You really could be a nurse. You’re attentive. Strong.”

Villanelle feels an unparalleled sense of pride, upon receiving the compliments, but she jokes to keep her reaction minimal.

“Only for you, Eve. I would only be good as your nurse.” Her Russian accent leaks into the secret she whispers: “I don’t care about the others.”

Eve giggles.

“What did you call me, again?” Villanelle asks with a smug grin.

“ _Nurse Astankova_ ,” Eve chuckles.

Villanelle leans across her bed, grabbing the opposite railing, and asks, “Would you like Nurse Astankova to visit you in another . . .” she ponders, “. . . four days?”

“Is that a threat?” Eve jokes. “You _do_ know what she does for work, right?” (Eve quotes Villanelle.)

Villanelle rolls her eyes and smiles. Her smile falls, though, as she cautiously asks, “Do you want another shower, Eve? Was it—did I—was I—”

“You were great,” Eve assures her. “Yes.” And finally, “Please.”

Villanelle stands upright, forcing confident body language while Eve’s praise turns her insides to mush.

“Okay,” she replies casually, “then I’ll see you in four days. The real doctors can do everything else, till then.”

When Villanelle turns to leave, Eve’s good arm reaches out. She calls, “Wait!”

Villanelle comes back to her bedside.

“What is it?” she asks, panicked.

Eve pulls a stunned, worried Villanelle down over her and kisses her.

“Eve, I—”

“Say it again,” Eve commands. The plea in her eye is much more vulnerable than her tone.

“I—I’m sorry?” Villanelle says.

Eve shakes her head. “No,” she whispers firmly. “What you said in Rome. Say it again.”

“I . . . I love you,” Villanelle tries, tears stinging her eyes while the words leave her mouth.

Eve pulls her again and kisses her, once more, quickly.

There is a pause that Eve breaks.

“See you in four days,” Eve finally says, letting Villanelle go . . . subconsciously reaching for her, still, while she disappears into the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle visits again, and things don't go as smoothly as the first time.
> 
> \--  
> Sort of tw: mental health and trauma . . . just some heavy feelings in the angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I have been suffering a bit of writer's block. I missed all of my readers over these 1-2 weeks, and I hope this is an enjoyable update. Sending you warmth and best wishes as the holidays are getting nearer and nearer. <3

Four days pass, and Eve is eating a late lunch—so late that her stomach demanded it with its low growls. So late that her head started to swim from all the medications, and the nurse reprimanded her more and more, telling her she couldn’t keep pushing it off. So late, in fact, that it could be considered an early dinner.

Eve watches the clock strike 4:00pm and surrenders herself to the tuna sandwich and pudding cup at her bedside table. She shovels it in, slowly, even though the nerves of her stomach threaten to push the meal back up.

_Villanelle forgot_ , she thinks. Her mouth tingles with the memory of pulling Villanelle down over her hospital bed, surprising the woman with an impulsive—no, premeditated—kiss.

The last thing she wants is to eat, if it’s true that Villanelle forgot to come back for her.

She finishes her meal and rolls over onto her side, succumbing to the pull of sleep.

**

“E-ve,” calls a quiet, broken voice.

Eve wakes up but refuses to open her eyes. She recognizes the phantom of Villanelle’s voice, although this one sounds shattered, disrupted. She pulls her blanket up higher. She regrets waking up, and her heart throbs with a disappointment that borders on heartbreak.

“Why’d you forget,” Eve murmurs to herself, and her throat feels tight. She tries to fall back asleep.

“. . . E— _ve_?” she whimpers, this time, hurt.

Eve’s eyes snap open and search immediately for Villanelle, now that she knows the voice wasn’t a trick of her mind. She feels relieved when her gaze lands on Villanelle—but then, she descends into panic.

“What happened?!” Eve asks, sitting up.

Villanelle has bruises on her throat and left eyebrow, and she’s holding onto her left arm as though it’s a burden. She still wears the scrubs and badge she was dressed in, last time.

“A mission, um,” she clears her throat in pain, “it wasn’t so great.”

Eve gawks at her, her mouth hanging open.

“Do you want to have your shower?” Villanelle asks, if only to break the silence. She pulls a half-smile.

“Vill—you . . . you didn’t have to come here,” Eve says. Tears sting her eyes as she observes Villanelle’s battered face and hears the scratchiness in her voice box. “Why did you—”

“—Because I promised you, Eve.” Villanelle is stern with determination.

Eve is stunned with Villanelle’s commitment to the promise. She observes the purple and blue hues of Villanelle’s bruises and feels loved and pained, all at once.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Villanelle croaks, when Eve hasn’t said anything in response. “Please let me make it up to you.”

Eve is grateful that Villanelle didn’t forget about her, but she feels overwhelmed, now. “I don’t think it’s a good idea—” Eve says, and she and Villanelle begin to argue with each other at the same time.

“—Please, I didn’t forget, and I—”

“—You don’t look so good, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself—”

“—I can do it, I’m strong enough—”

“—What happens if your arm—”

“— ** _EVE_** ,” Villanelle yells, finally, gaining the upper-hand.

Eve falls silent, at that. Stunned.

Villanelle sighs. “Please, I need to do this. I needed . . . to _see_ you,” she says softly, knowing that Eve recognizes her own words being mirrored back.

Eve gives in with a nod. “Okay . . . But if anything happens,” she says with glossy eyes, “you _need_ to call for help.”

Villanelle nods to her.

“And I don’t just mean if anything happens to _me_. Okay?” Eve asks.

Villanelle exhales and looks at the floor, then back up at Eve. “Okay.”

**

“I can walk if I lean on you,” Eve explains, sitting on the edge of her bed. Truthfully, she’d urged the doctors to give her extra time in physical therapy, this week, in preparation for Villanelle’s return.

“That’ll work out great,” Villanelle says, gesturing towards her injured arm.

Villanelle puts her right arm around Eve, and Eve puts her left arm around Villanelle, and just like that, Villanelle helps Eve shuffle towards the bathroom.

Villanelle compliments Eve’s newfound ability to walk. “That’s quite the improvement.”

“Yeah, well,” Eve says, blushing and looking down, “I’ve been working on it more and more.”

“You don’t like being carried?” Villanelle asks bluntly, the pink in Eve’s cheeks not lost on her.

“No—it’s . . .” Eve trails off, realizing she just admitted that she likes it. “I wanted to make things easier for you, is all.”

They make it inside the bathroom and Villanelle loosely pins Eve against the wall, leaning on her good arm.

“You sure that’s all?” Villanelle asks, keeping Eve’s eye contact.

Eve becomes flustered, practically forgetting the subject of the conversation, and she gives a light chuckle at Villanelle’s words. She leans her back against the wall, though, forgetting her injury. She gasps with pain when her back hits the hard tile and throws herself forward.

The moment is lost and Villanelle’s face falls because she remembers that all of this is a result of her own actions.

Eve’s face falls, as well, and she turns around so that Villanelle can undo the buttons of her hospital gown, again.

Villanelle grazes her fingers over the middle of Eve’s back, eyeing the area where the stitches are and keeping the words “I’m sorry” at bay. Then, she undoes the buttons and shrugs the gown off of Eve’s shoulders.

Eve feels herself growing modest as she loses layers, again, so she clears her throat and speaks quietly. “So, your mission, did you—”

“—Huh?” Villanelle asks. She was jolted out of her own thoughts, more than anything else.

“Your mission,” Eve says, louder. “Did you take care of your . . . victim?”

“The target?” Villanelle clarifies, suddenly shivering at the thought of having victims. She fears that the greatest victim of all is in front of her.

“Yeah,” Eve nods. “Did you kill him after he hurt you?”

“Yes. I killed him,” Villanelle says, feeling more like herself. “If I didn’t kill him, I would be in _huge_ trouble.”

Eve finds herself bare, now, but she covers her chest and turns towards Villanelle, anyway.

“Are you going to go to the doctor, after this?” Eve asks.

Villanelle laughs. Quietly, at first, then boisterous. So loud that the rest of the hospital can probably hear.

“What?” Eve asks with a twisted expression.

“Eve, don’t be ridiculous,” Villanelle says.

“What, there’s not a doctor you can see?” Eve asks.

Villanelle becomes a bit more serious as she discloses the truth. “We never get medical care _ever_ , Eve.” 

Eve’s eyes go wide. “W-What did you do when—” she looks down at Villanelle’s abdomen.

“Not _ever_ , Eve,” Villanelle whispers.

“Oh my god,” Eve whispers, the realization dawning on her. She searches Villanelle’s eyes. “I’m s—”

“—Don’t apologize.” Villanelle raises her eyebrows. “It’s like I told you, last time. I liked it. It was from _you_.”

Eve nods and falls quiet, for a moment. Then she asks, “Can I . . . um, my underwear.” She looks at Villanelle’s blue scrubs, instead of her eyes.

“I will turn. Lean on me if you need to.”

Eve waits for Villanelle to turn and finds herself handling the task with ease. She is suddenly grateful for her efforts of getting out of bed and moving around, more.

With that out of the way, Villanelle walks Eve over to the chair inside the shower. She keeps her gaze strictly forward and ignores how the palm of her hand feels as it rests against Eve’s bare side.

Eve sits and waits for the routine to continue, but she and Villanelle quickly realize that things are complicated by Villanelle’s inability to use her left arm.

Villanelle pulls the detachable shower head from the wall. “Would you be okay with holding this for . . . most of the time?” she asks, hesitantly.

Eve nods and Villanelle hands it over to her.

Villanelle starts washing Eve’s hair with her right hand, scrunching shampoo into sections of hair until suds appear.

“I’m sorry this isn’t as good as last time, Eve,” Villanelle says, and her voice cracks.

“Villanelle,” Eve scolds at first, not wanting Villanelle to be upset. Then, she softens. “I’m just thankful,” she says. And before Villanelle can ask for clarification, she continues, “. . . that you came here to do . . . something nice for me.”

Villanelle takes the showerhead back and rinses the shampoo out.

“I’m sorry I was late.” And then, more quietly, “Did you really believe I wasn’t coming?” She passes her hand over Eve’s hair delicately, while the water runs over it.

Eve’s heart sinks as she remembers that Villanelle heard her whisper her own disappointment to herself.

“I should have trusted you.” Eve admits. “I guess I just was afraid that . . .”

“—That you would be left?” Villanelle chimes in. “That I would leave you?” she clarifies.

It takes everything for Eve not to cry or put her hand out for Villanelle or _something_ , anything to channel her sudden overwhelm of emotions into.

“Yeah,” she finally responds. “I think that’s what I was worried about,” she says with a nod.

Villanelle starts putting conditioner into Eve’s hair.

“I know what that feels like,” Villanelle whispers, pained. And she doesn’t clarify whether it’s the _fear_ of being left or the _act_ of being left that she is referring to.

Eve doesn’t seek clarification on what she means, or who might have left, or when. She simply sits in silence. Her heart feels icy, even though she holds the warm stream of water over her torso.

“Do you think you’ll get bored of helping me shower?” Eve asks, changing the subject. “—I mean, if there are going to be more of these, I guess?” She feels bad for assuming that Villanelle will come back, again and again.

“Oh,” Villanelle says because her eyes sparkle while she looks at Eve’s ringlets forming in the midst of the conditioner, again. She runs her finger through one of them while she responds, “No, Eve. I don’t . . . I don’t think I could _ever_ get sick of this.” She shakes her head. “—If you want me to keep coming, I mean.”

The uncertainty hangs in the air between them, for a moment. Villanelle rinses the conditioner and hands Eve a soapy rag and then faces the wall while waiting. With a permissive nod, Villanelle runs the water over Eve to rinse her off, like last time.

“If you want to keep coming here, I mean, that would be nice, I think,” Eve finally says.

Villanelle turns the water off and stays facing the wall, frozen.

“Villanelle?” Eve calls, worried.

Villanelle starts to smile and finally turns back towards Eve. “I’m sorry, I . . . I’m just glad that you are willing to let me keep coming.” She gets on her knees by Eve’s chair before she can even restrain herself, and she takes Eve’s hand in her own, looking up at Eve with glossy eyes and a smile. She lets out a breath.

Every part of Eve feels soft and free and painless, all of a sudden. She squeezes Villanelle’s hand and smiles. She wonders how it’s possible that Villanelle cares for her enough to wash her hair with one hand, and to claim that she will not tire of it.

Villanelle stands up and keeps Eve’s hand in her own, guiding her to stand up.

Only, what happens, then, is that Eve takes a step towards the door at the same time that Villanelle steps in front of Eve, on accident, and Eve trips over Villanelle and falls onto the ground. Her right arm tingles with sharp, shooting pain underneath the weight of her body.

Villanelle stares at Eve, her eyes wide. She breathes heavily and starts to sweat. She stares at Eve in disbelief—at how she’s on the floor, writhing in pain and gasping. She remembers the fragility of human life, and she wonders why she never thought of Eve as something easy to lose. In fact, shooting Eve was a _hard_ action; bullets are _hard_ , bullets can destroy anyone. But something about Eve falling to the ground while already being injured sets Villanelle’s skin on fire with worry and realization.

Villanelle looks away from Eve—anywhere else, really. The ceiling, the floor. She is so pained and panicked by what she’s just done.

“Villanelle!” Eve calls. She watches Villanelle close her eyes and breathe heavier and clamp her eyes shut, to avoid crying.

“ _Villanelle!!_ ” Eve calls again as her arm begins to go numb.

When no response comes, Eve uses her good arm to pull herself along the ground to get closer to Villanelle. Then, she reaches and grabs Villanelle’s ankle.

Villanelle looks at her, then, eyes wide and attentive and so, so worried.

“Please help me,” Eve begs. “ _It hurts_.”

Villanelle comes back to herself, then, crouching down and pulling Eve to sit upright against herself.

“Eve,” Villanelle croaks. And that’s all she says. Her breathing keeps its pace.

Eve leans on Villanelle and finds that the easiest thing to do is throw her good arm around Villanelle and practically hug her, just to keep herself upright.

“It’s okay, I’m _okay_ ,” Eve says, looking up into Villanelle’s lost eyes.

“Should I still call for help?” Villanelle says, after a moment. Her eyes dart around the room looking for some sort of a button or device to do so.

“No!—No, I think we will be okay,” Eve assures her. “Let me sit for a minute, and then I’ll try to stand.”

No reply comes from Villanelle. She stares over Eve’s shoulder at the floor, and tears start to stream down her face. Her state of shock begins to turn into something else entirely.

“I hurt you again,” Villanelle says, still not looking at Eve. “I don’t know w—”

Eve begs for her eye contact and assures, “It’s oka—”

“ _—I don’t know what I will do with myself_ ,” Villanelle says darkly. Her whole face tenses with anger and the whites of her eyes become tinted with red, and the veins in her forehead become prominent.

Eve watches Villanelle’s face change, and she can all but hear whatever self-loathing, yet somehow simultaneously dissociated thoughts begin to twist in Villanelle’s mind. She has never seen Villanelle become angry and anguished, like this, but she can feel everything Villanelle feels, somewhere deep inside of her. She stares up at Villanelle with glossy eyes and then leaps into action.

There’s not much she can do, in this state, but she tightens her grasp around Villanelle and leans more of her weight onto Villanelle—a true embrace, now. She switches between squeezing Villanelle’s side and running her hand up and down in soothing motions.

“You didn’t mean to,” Eve cries, “it wasn’t on purpose!” Then, “It’s _okay_ ,” she says, slowly. And when Villanelle only seems to calm by a fraction, she calls her name again. “Villanelle?”

Villanelle’s anger turns to a broken sadness as Eve physically and verbally soothes her. Her eyes glimmer with a flood of tears.

“It’s _not_ okay, Eve,” Villanelle says. “You shouldn’t believe it is okay to be hurt. I hurt you _twice_ , Eve.”

Eve thinks she understands, now.

“It was an accident,” Eve says, equally tender and stern, hoping she has the right idea.

Villanelle finally looks down into Eve’s eyes.

Eve takes a deep breath. “Last time, you hurt me on purpose. This time, you only _watched_ me get hurt . . . on accident,” she tells her. And when Villanelle still doesn’t seem to accept it, she makes the point, “Those two things are completely different.”

Villanelle starts to understand this, for the first time, and she lets her tears fall as questions float around in her mind. “I don’t know if I . . .” she says.

“Did your parents ever . . . you know, maybe pull your arm too hard, or let you fall to the ground and scrape your knee? Something by mistake, like that?”

Eve realizes her mistake when Villanelle goes cold, for a moment, looking lost, again. And then she returns to herself—to the sadness.

Villanelle speaks slowly; quietly. “I was never hurt _on accident_.”

Eve keeps herself from gasping aloud, and instead turns into Villanelle’s chest and uses all of the strength she has to hug Villanelle with her one arm. She hopes Villanelle can hear her apology: her apology for asking, and her apology for everything awful that ever happened to her.

Villanelle’s hand tingles, where she is supporting Eve, because she longs to hold Eve tighter—maybe to hug her back—but she is afraid to move because she doesn’t want to somehow hurt Eve, again.

Eve can’t help her tears from falling harder as she continues the discussion. “Well, when you care about people, sometimes you hurt them on accident. Sometimes you witness them getting hurt. And it’s okay, and it’s not your fault. You just help them.” She moves her hand to the middle of Villanelle’s back and clings. “And you just _forgive yourself_.”

Villanelle softens, all but falling limp. “Okay,” she says, finally. “Okay. I didn’t know about that I’ve never . . .” her voice gets caught. “Thank you, Eve. I’m s—I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s okay,” Eve assures her, and then—“Please,” she begs, “just hold me.”

Eve requests that for many reasons. Because she’s been alone in the hospital for so many weeks, because she couldn’t wait for Villanelle to come back, because she’s glad that she helped Villanelle understand something, and especially because she realizes that Villanelle _needs_ this. She needs to experience this; she needs to know what forgiveness and healing feel like. She needs to know what it’s like to hold someone and be held, if Anna or her parents or Konstantin never let her have that.

Villanelle fixes the placement of her arm so that she is holding Eve against herself, and a warm, foreign sensation moves throughout her entire body. She sighs and she smiles, and then she feels as though she is melting. She’s always wanted to hold Eve, and she’s always wanted Eve to hold her. She never thought she would hurt Eve in the process of getting what she hoped for, but she feels grateful that this is happening, anyway.

“You okay?” Eve asks, as they embrace. She hears Villanelle’s breathes become slow and steady and perceives that as a good sign.

“I’m okay,” Villanelle says, soft and breathy. “This is nice,” she whispers.

“It is,” Eve replies. But she does not want to put too much attention on Villanelle, so she says, “. . . For me, too.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, and then Eve gently pulls away.

“Could you help me up?” she asks.

Villanelle nods and stands up, still making sure that Eve can lean on her. Then, she takes Eve’s hand and pulls Eve up to her feet. She wishes that either of them had access to both of their arms, but they accomplish the task, nonetheless.

They take, steady, slow steps, this time. Eve’s legs don’t hurt from the fall—although she suspects that her knee will bruise a deep purple, soon.

Villanelle helps Eve pull fresh clothes on, then walks her back to bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay after . . .?” Villanelle asks, once Eve is happily sitting on the end of her hospital bed, again.

“It wasn’t that bad, Ville. It really wasn’t.” Eve follows her instinct to cup Villanelle’s cheek. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Villanelle nods, melting into Eve again and losing all of her words. She feels Eve’s thumb stroking over the high point of her cheek, again and again.

“Take care of your injuries,” Eve requests.

“Do you still want me to come back in a few days, even though—”

“— _Yes_ ,” Eve says, firmly. “Of course.”

Villanelle just sighs a little bit and smiles with relief.

“Four days?” Villanelle asks.

Eve moves her hand to the back of Villanelle’s neck and pulls her in. She realizes that Villanelle will leave, soon, and that this is what goodbyes are meant to look like.

Eve catches Villanelle’s lips in a kiss—slow and deep and gentle, in contrast with the last time.

“ _I love you_ ,” Villanelle says, after: quickly, breathily, urgently.

Eve rests their foreheads together and closes her eyes.

“I love you, too,” she replies, so close to Villanelle’s mouth. She feels every part of Villanelle’s delighted, surprised smile as the words reach her.

Then, Eve pulls away and lies down on her hospital bed, on her side. She is tired from everything that’s happened and she thinks she could fall back asleep.

Villanelle just watches. Her hands feel empty as she observes Eve lying back down, looking peaceful and drowsy. She looks at Eve’s damp hair, which is now splayed across the pillow, and she wishes she could scoop it all back up into her hand, again.

“I’ll see you soon,” Villanelle says, unaware of how she tilts her head to look at Eve.

“Okay,” Eve says with a smile.

“I promise I’ll be here,” Villanelle says, suddenly worried about what happened, this time.

“I believe you,” Eve says gently, her eyes softening.

Eve closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep, still smiling, a little bit. She knows Villanelle will leave the hospital. It doesn’t feel that way, though; she feels Villanelle near her, above her, all around her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle returns to the hospital and sees something that's difficult to process.
> 
> \--
> 
> Very angsty followed by very soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! I need to state the obvious . . . Why is Eve still in the hospital? How long does it take to recover from a bullet wound? What does that recovery actually look like?
> 
> ^Those are the things I disregarded when I wrote this fiction. And it's fine, we are all here for the mush! But I just have to call myself out publicly because those details simply don't make sense, anymore, especially in this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy and maybe leave a comment? :) Ily! <3

Villanelle returns to the hospital, four days later, and she’s on time. Her bruises are a faint gray hue and her arm is functional again, and she imagines that maybe Eve will be happy to see that she recovered. She had imagined it over and over, the night before—maybe Eve would pull her up onto the hospital bed and ask her if those spots still hurt. Maybe Eve would kiss each one.

Villanelle takes the elevator up to Eve’s floor. When she steps in through the doors, she recognizes Rita (the woman with the prosthetic leg that she first helped shower).

Villanelle avoids eye contact with Rita because the discomfort of having helped someone instead of hurting them is foreign. Her mind is clouded with the disconnect.

“Nurse . . .” and then, “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” says Rita.

There’s no avoiding it.

“Nurse Astankova,” Villanelle says with a little nod, and she starts to smile, but quickly becomes uncomfortable.

“Nurse Astankova!” Rita says, fondly. “How are you, dear? How’s the friend you mentioned—the one who was in the car accident?”

Villanelle recalls that she told Rita about Eve when Rita asked why she wanted to be a nurse. She smiles softly at the mention of Eve, and the slow ascent of the elevator makes her anticipation grow.

“She’s recovering very well,” Villanelle says. She feels genuine sincerity towards Rita, as well as gratitude for the practice Rita provided, before she went on to help Eve shower.

Rita smiles and expresses how happy she is to hear that, just as the elevator stops on Eve’s floor.

“Take care of yourself, Rita,” Villanelle tells her. It feels like her whole chest expands when she offers the sentiment. And then she’s stepping out and walking briskly down the hall, excited for her time with Eve.

As Villanelle approaches the room, she hears more activity than usual. She hears the low, sure, all-consuming tone of Eve’s voice. Then, she finds the open doorway and peers in, and it’s _Niko_ that Eve is speaking to.

_Niko_ , of all goddamn people.

_Why now?_ Villanelle wonders. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she doesn’t even realize it. Her palms become sweaty and she just stares and stares at Niko and Eve. She sees the way that Eve looks up at him with glossy, concerned eyes. And then Niko is _kissing_ Eve, and Eve’s eyes close, and Villanelle’s hands fold into fists so tight that her nails make indents in her palms. Eve cups his cheek and offers some sort of reassurance.

Her breath gets shaky, but she returns to reality when Niko turns to leave. She realizes she needs to hide—that the woman who shot Eve cannot be in plain sight, or Niko would probably call for help or try to fight her, himself, since she hurt Eve.

She dashes further down the hall and then returns to casual a walking pace, hoping that Niko won’t recognize her because of the scrubs and her low bun.

Luckily, Niko heads in the other direction. His head is down and she notices he looks unkempt. And he sulks toward the elevator, without evaluating his surroundings.

She waits until he gets on the elevator, and then waits until the doors close. All the while, her mind races as she evaluates what to do. Ultimately, she decides to keep her promise to Eve (“I promise I’ll be here,” she had said), and she lets ten minutes pass before she appears in Eve’s room.

**

“Hi,” Eve says, letting a breath out.

Seeing Eve, hearing her voice, and already taking in her familiar scent . . . it’s therapeutic for Villanelle, even though her heart feels like broken glass.

Villanelle threatens to fall apart. She’s skilled at this, though, so she turns and closes the door, and when she faces Eve, again, her face is void of emotions.

“Hi,” Villanelle says, turning her muscles into a soft smile.

It would probably fool anyone else—and it has, on many occasions—but doubt washes over Eve. “Are . . . you okay?” Eve asks.

“Yes, Eve. It’s so good to see you,” (and she means that part, regardless of everything). “May I wash your hair?”

Eve gets out of bed. She pulls herself to her feet as though she’s never struggled with it before.

“Do you need help?” Villanelle asks, concerned.

Eve shakes her head “no” and smiles, then walks to the bathroom. She opens the right-handed door with her left hand and invites Villanelle to follow.

Another part of Villanelle’s heart hurts, somewhere deep, when she realizes that maybe Eve doesn’t need anything from her, anymore. But she takes a deep breath and follows Eve, regardless.

They follow the normal routine in silence. Eve’s only remaining hinderance is her right arm, so Villanelle helps her undress and follows her to the shower and washes her hair.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Eve asks, when Villanelle has been wordlessly gentle with her.

“Yeah,” Villanelle says, and she nods, even though Eve can’t see her. And she thinks that anybody would believe her tone.

“Okay, Ville,” Eve says.

A nickname, at a time like this?

Eve continues. “You . . . can always talk to me, you know. About anything,” she says, and she turns her head and meets Villanelle’s eyes, briefly.

All of Villanelle’s emotions flood her, suddenly. She doesn’t normally have an issue with pushing them back, but she quickly realizes that this is different. And she feels like it’s not _fair_ , and if Eve doesn’t love her—doesn’t _want_ her—then she’d rather just know. She would need to move on and forget, she thinks, because she has given Eve so much of herself, whether Eve realizes it or not. So much love and trust . . . The holding. The way she made friends with Rita. The way she tried to help and fix instead of destroy and abandon. And it’s so callous if Eve cannot see that, she believes.

Villanelle rinses the last bit of conditioner out of Eve’s hair and hands the shower head to Eve.

Eve expects the normal routine; body wash should come next. But that’s not what she gets. She feels a sensation on the stitches in her back and quickly realizes what it is when she feels the warmth and hears the familiar puckering sound of a kiss.

And Villanelle kisses her, there. Just once, with her eyes closed. Her hand comes up and she brushes her fingers over the middle of Eve’s back—as softly as she has ever allowed them to be, since they usually bend and break and choke. She silently says goodbye, just in case Eve will not listen. Just in case Eve will not have her. Just in case she needs to leave and forget.

_Goodbye . . . Just in case_.

“ _Eve_ ,” she says, and her voice is already rough with the sadness.

“What is it?” Eve asks, paralyzed and yet full of concern.

“I saw you,” she says, “with _Niko_ ,” and she says his name like she’s resisted hurting him a thousand different times.

Eve holds the shower head over herself and she doesn’t know what to say or how to have this conversation, and she worries about everything at once.

“I can expl—” Eve starts to say, finally.

Although, she is interrupted.

“— _Eve_ ,” Villanelle’s voice descends from anger to sadness. “Is it because I shot you, Eve? Is there—are you—are you never going to be able to forgive me, Eve?”

Eve closes her eyes and listens, and it feels like preparing for torrential rain and knowing that nothing can stop it.

“I _tried_ ,” Villanelle cries, “I tried to apologize. I just feel . . .” she stops and looks down at her own hands, and she wishes she could break all of her fingers for all of the times that they hurt and hurt and _hurt_ everyone, because maybe if they didn’t, she wouldn’t have hurt Eve, too. “I feel like you will never forgive me, or I will never be good enough, now.” She drops to her knees and rests her forehead against Eve’s upper back, and she swears that this is the last time she will ever beg. If this doesn’t work, she decides she will never be weak, again. “I hurt you, and I know that my apologies aren’t enough to fix it, but I would apologize _all day_ , if they were.”

“Villanelle?” Eve is scared. Scared of loving so intensely and then losing everything.

Villanelle continues. “I can’t un-hurt you, Eve. All I can do is _help_. And that’s what I’ve been trying to do! That’s why I w-wash your pretty . . . h-hair,” she sobs, “and that’s why I carry you, and that’s why I rinse the soap off.”

It hurts. Eve’s back stings, even though only the cool air settles against it.

“I can’t force you to love me,” Villanelle says, and there is clarity and strength in her voice. “And I can’t hurt Niko. And I wouldn’t! I just . . .” she trails off, and the one thing she knows for certain shows through. “You told me that you love me, and I believed you, and you kissed Niko. I don’t know if,” she sighs, “maybe you don’t _believe_ that I have feelings. Maybe you justify to yourself that you can kiss us both, if you think that I do not feel things,” she chokes, “But I do! And I’m _scared_ and I’m _breaking inside_ , Eve, because I don’t know if you really love me, like you said you did.”

Eve waits to ensure that Villanelle is finished saying everything, and she knows that Villanelle is done speaking because she cries softly . . . brokenly. Eve is pretty sure that Villanelle is holding her own self on the floor.

“Villanelle?” Eve says. And no reply comes, only the steady tears, so she makes her request. “Please do not leave until we finish this conversation,” Eve begs. “I will not stop you if . . . if you need to leave, afterwards.” Eve cannot even imagine that. “But please wait until we have finished talking.”

Villanelle’s reply comes in between sobs that she cannot control. “ _I—I’ll try_.” (She cannot promise because she doesn’t remember a single other time in her life when she was this sad.)

“Niko,” Eve says with a sigh, “. . . came by to tell me that he’s checking himself into a psychiatric care facility.” Eve hasn’t even had time to process the news, let alone inform someone else.

Villanelle just listens and holds onto her arms with the same hands that she hates.

The statement Villanelle made about hurting everyone does not go unnoticed. “I’m not mad, Villanelle.” She repeats herself, “I’m not mad.” And then she braces herself. “What you did with Gemma before we went to Rome . . . Niko needs care,” she says, choosing her words carefully.

Villanelle’s sniffling and sobbing pauses, but then she says (lowly), “ _I’m sorry._ ”

Something about the sound. The quality, maybe. It puts Eve on high-alert and she knows that anything she says next will determine the outcome.

Eve stands and shuts the water off and clumsily puts the shower head back, all with the same arm. She grabs her own towel and wraps it around herself. And then, she sits back down and turns to face Villanelle. If she ever cared that she’s still somewhat naked, she doesn’t, anymore, because she imagines that Villanelle has never admitted her feelings and cried on a shower floor, before, so they are _both_ bare and vulnerable.

“I _mean_ it, Villanelle. I am not mad about Gemma.” She says it like she’s scolding Villanelle. She knows Villanelle needs to know that.

Eve sighs and looks at the mess she’s made of Villanelle, on the floor with her head bowed to the ground so that the tears on her face can’t be seen.

“I can’t . . . I can’t just dump Niko, while he’s going to an institution. I can’t—it’s—I don’t know what would happen to him. And it’s _my fault_. Everything is my fault,” Eve says.

“ _It’s my fault_ ,” Villanelle says, still low and distant.

“No, it’s not,” Eve argues, sternly. “ _I_ loved you. _I_ chased you. I knew you could hurt my family—hurt _me_ —and I wanted you. I made my decisions.”

“ _Why would you love somebody who shoots you in the back, Eve?_ ”

Eve holds her breath because she knows that Villanelle wants her own self-hatred to be validated. And she won’t participate in that, in any universe.

“Why . . .” Eve asks, “. . . would you love somebody who stabs you in the gut?”

_Oh_.

Villanelle’s eyes flick up to meet Eve’s. Her eyes are red and her skin burns from the tears.

“I really do love you,” Eve whispers. “I’m sorry that I haven’t told you I forgive you. It took some time to forgive . . . some reflecting. But I do, now,” she offers. She reaches her good hand out for Villanelle but quickly says, “You don’t have to . . .”

But Villanelle does. She trusts Eve and knows that Eve doesn’t lie. She finds her cold hand safe in Eve’s. It’s enough for her to slowly forget why she ever hated her hands so much.

“I _know_ you have feelings,” Eve says. She squeezes Villanelle’s hand and sees how Villanelle jolts, a little. “See?” she says.

Villanelle can’t help but smile, if only for a second.

“I’m sorry you saw me kiss Niko,” Eve says, and she can’t help it when her voice wavers. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take, or how it’s going to happen, but I will find a way to end things.”

Villanelle feels hopeful, for the first time in a while.

Eve clarifies, “You don’t have to wait, if it’s too hard. You’re not obligated. If you’re upset that we’re still married, I’m not asking you to stay and wait. You could find someone else,” Eve says. She doesn’t want to hurt Villanelle, again.

“Someone else?” Villanelle whispers. And then a pause. “There is no one else, Eve.” She says the name like it’s her favorite place, her home, her favorite word in her favorite language.

“Villanelle,” Eve says, and she strokes Villanelle’s fingers with her thumb. “Come here.”

Villanelle lets go of Eve’s hand and finds herself listening to the command—no, the invitation—because a specific sentiment still echoes in her mind ( _I really do love you_ ). She picks herself up and evaluates the condition of her scrub pants, which are soaked. She looks into Eve’s eyes; _Eve_ is waiting for her, so she disregards everything. She stands by Eve’s side and picks up Eve’s hand.

“Come here,” Eve says, again.

Villanelle raises her eyebrows, wanting to confirm that Eve is sure about this.

And Eve is. She nods.

Villanelle sits sideways across Eve’s lap, and quickly feels Eve’s good arm come up and around her, holding her close.

“Show me,” Eve says, looking down at Villanelle’s hip. She realizes how eagerly she said it and punctuates the statement with, “Please.”

Villanelle moves slowly. She’s never been one to show her weak spots. Especially as an assassin, she always knows which places to protect and hide. But she looks at Eve and then rolls the waistband of her scrub pants down, a little, revealing the neat “dash” of a scar by her hip.

Eve gasps without meaning to, then immediately quiets herself and asks, “Can I?” and pushes her bad arm forward. She knows her stitches won’t pull, as long as she doesn’t reach too far forward.

“Yes,” Villanelle says.

Eve lets out a breath when her fingers find the mark and graze across it. She does that repeatedly and quietly.

“I hurt you, too,” Eve says, after a moment.

Villanelle’s eyes stay fixed on Eve’s hand. She wants to hold it in place, press it to her stomach.

“You’ve told me twice that you don’t resent me for it,” Eve continues, “but I’m sorry that you laid down beside me and I . . . _hurt_ you. I’m sorry for whatever I wanted to prove. And I’m sorry that you couldn’t get medical care.”

Villanelle follows her impulse, finally, pressing Eve’s palm down, over the scar. Like it belongs to Eve.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, lately,” Eve says. “You could have died.”

Villanelle acknowledges, “I’m okay, Eve.”

Eve leaves no space in between as she whispers, “I don’t want to lose you.” The admission seems sudden, but it isn’t.

Villanelle’s heart starts to pound at the idea that Eve had wanted her to recover from the knife wound. “You didn’t Eve, I made it, I—"

“—Not back then, but I also mean now. I can’t lose you, now.”

Villanelle falls silent at the realization that Eve didn’t want to lose her today . . . a few minutes ago, even. She searches Eve’s eyes and finds sadness and worry that she’s never seen in Eve, before.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Villanelle finally says. She cups Eve’s face with both of her hands and quickly comes to appreciate how it feels to offer tenderness, like this. Her eyes become glossy and she wonders how it’s possible to feel so worried and grateful, all at once. She realizes maybe Eve’s eyes will lose their concernedness and be filled with something calmer if she just—

Her eyes fall to Eve’s mouth and she kisses Eve, there. Long and soft, and more about giving than taking. She pushes Eve’s wet curls behind her shoulders and keeps kissing her, and something about it reminds Villanelle of when she pinned Eve down in the bathtub and demanded a dinner date.

Eve’s eyes are closed by the time that Villanelle is done with her, and she wishes that she had access to both of her arms so she could let them return affection to Villanelle.

“I’m yours,” Villanelle tells her, urgently, when her eyes open.

Eve smiles and nearly giggles at how intensely Villanelle said it and how her voice wasn’t even close to steady.

“You’re mine?” Eve asks, still smiling. Part of her hopes that Villanelle won’t soften; it was her intensity and strength that made her irresistible, in the first place.

“I’m yours, Eve,” Villanelle says, gently. She rests her forehead to Eve’s.

Eve sighs, relaxes. “You’re mine, baby,” she whispers. Maybe she loves Villanelle’s softness just as much, if not more.

**

Villanelle climbs off of Eve’s lap and continues on with the routine, giving Eve the body wash and the rag. She rinses the soap off of Eve, as she always does, and it feels different for both of them, after Villanelle expressed that she does it with the intention of being helpful and providing healing.

She gives Eve a new towel and finds Eve a fresh hospital gown, and she feels oddly at peace when she hides Eve’s stitches away under the gown, as she snaps each button together.

When Eve goes to leave the bathroom and go back to bed, Villanelle utters, “Wait . . .”

“Hmm?” Eve asks, concerned.

“I know it’s—I know you—C-Can I carry you?” Villanelle stammers. “Because I love you? Can I carry you because I love you?”

Eve puts her left arm around Villanelle’s shoulders and waits for the sensation of being pulled up off of the ground by strong arms.

Villanelle is surprised when Eve holds on like a loved one instead of like a patient. That is, she leans her head on Villanelle’s shoulder and hugs Villanelle’s side.

“Oh,” Villanelle sighs, without taking any steps forward. She blushes and decides to be brave by asking, “Are you mine, Eve?”

Eve smiles. “I’m yours.”

Villanelle walks her over and sets her down on the hospital bed. She leans over Eve, when Eve lays down.

“Four days?” Villanelle asks.

Eve pulls Villanelle down into a kiss, unable to resist the draw.

“Four days.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve is discharged from the hospital!...and then Niko comes home.
> 
> \--
> 
> The final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I just wanted to thank you for reading this story. Your comments have been so lovely, and you encouraged me to make this a short multi-chapter fic, when I originally thought it would be a one-shot.
> 
> There is so much tenderness in this chapter (seriously) that it was overwhelming to write.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy. I look forward to your reactions. I hope to bring you more soft fics, soon, as I know that everyone benefits from these types of things during these uncertain times. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, and enjoy! <3

Four days later, Villanelle makes her way to Eve’s room. The corridors and the elevator are mostly empty, and Villanelle feels light on her feet. Something about the atmosphere is calm; steady.

She knocks on the door to Eve’s hospital room and pushes the door open.

The sight she sees is not what she expected; that is, Eve sits on the side of her bed. Her bag is packed, she wears normal clothes in place of her hospital gown (dark jeans and a turtleneck), and she seems to be scrolling idly on her phone—or at least, she was scrolling idly, till she spotted Villanelle and greeted her with a warm smile.

“Eve?” Villanelle says, smiling in return and stepping closer.

“Change of plans, Nurse,” Eve says, like she’s rehearsed her words a thousand times. “Will you take me home?”

Villanelle smiles and starts to giggle—starts to cry warm, joyful tears—starts to do a dazed blend of everything, all at once. She is so overwhelmed with delight that she comes to Eve’s side, and she pulls Eve up off of the bed and onto her feet. And then they’re half-swaying and half-waltzing out of pure elation that this is over, that Eve is discharged from the hospital, and that this moment is the end of something . . . the beginning of something else.

Villanelle picks Eve’s messenger bag up off of the ground, and she’s too joyful to criticize Eve for having such ugly taste in what she’s sure Eve would call a “practical” bag.

She puts her arm around Eve’s shoulder, and Eve puts her arm around Villanelle’s waist, and the two walk—not to the bathroom, finally, but out the door.

**

When the elevator doors open, Villanelle finds that Rita is on her way down, as well.

“Nurse Astankova,” Rita greets, almost immediately. And then, “Is this her?”

Before Eve knows it, her hand is captured by both of the stranger’s.

“Are you the best friend who was in the accident?” Rita asks, squeezing Eve’s hand as though Eve is her own family.

Eve’s breath catches at the idea that Villanelle would refer to her as a “best friend”. She realizes that Villanelle must have said those words soon after the events of Rome. Eve smiles and replies, “Yes, I’m Eve.”

“Eve,” Rita greets her, “I’m Rita.”

“Do you remember?” Villanelle asks Eve. “I told you about Rita, and how she was kind enough to give me practice as a nurse.”

Eve nods, and before she can add to the conversation, Rita chimes in.

“She’s the best, isn’t she?” Rita asks Eve. “So careful and gentle.”

Villanelle blushes. Of all the ways people have described her, it’s never been those types of things. _Careful_ , she thinks. _Gentle_. It’s enough to make her look down at the floor while she mutters her gratitude. And then she’s thinking about her own hands. She’s thinking about learning how to help, more, and how maybe she will only hurt people when necessary.

Villanelle is still lost in thought when the elevator stops, and when Eve sends Rita off with cordial small talk, and when Rita steps out of the elevator before they do. The only thing that breaks Villanelle’s trance is Eve.

“Your best friend?” Eve asks. Tenderness dances in her warm, brown eyes as she meets Villanelle’s gaze.

Villanelle is rendered speechless, after everything that has happened in the past few minutes. She gives Eve a small nod and exhales as she smiles, bringing her hand up to Eve’s shoulder. And she squeezes Eve’s shoulder warmly.

When the pair steps out of the elevator and Villanelle’s hand drops down, Eve feels a tingling, cool sensation where Villanelle’s hand had been. Her chest blooms with affection. She follows Villanelle towards the doors of the hospital . . . to the sunshining, beautiful outside world that she hasn’t seen for weeks upon weeks.

**

They arrive at Eve’s house, and Eve makes a beeline for the kitchen, eager to find something edible in the pantry, since she and Niko have abandoned the house for a while. She finds some pistachios and pours them into a bowl for her and Villanelle. She starts a pot of coffee while Villanelle begins picking at the pistachios, and she offers Villanelle a choice between water and coffee.

When Eve is fixing her own cup of coffee, she becomes hesitant.

“There are some things I still can’t do,” Eve starts.

Villanelle listens. She can’t help but notice Eve’s shoulders tense, or the way that Eve’s hand tremors as she pours coffee into her mug.

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” Eve starts to ramble. “I mean, I’m sure we can work something out. It’ll just be a while, and then I’ll be self-sufficient and you won’t have to spend so much of your time helping—”

“—What is it?” Villanelle interrupts. “What do you need help with, Eve?”

“I still can’t wash my hair,” Eve huffs. She stares squarely at the counter and her eyes begin to well up with tears of frustration. She is home, finally, and she _still_ can’t use her arm for everything she needs it for. Eve feels like there will always be something in the way of her being fully healed.

“That’s no problem,” Villanelle says, matter-of-fact. She cracks open the shell of a pistachio and sets the nut down on the table because she is too busy focusing on Eve. “That’s what I’m here for,” she tells Eve, reassuringly. “I will do it for as long as you need, until you can do it.”

“I can’t reach behind me,” Eve says. “Not for another month, or so. I can move in almost every other way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” She stops staring at the countertop, finally.

Villanelle’s eyebrows raise in worry when she sees Eve turn to her, slow tears streaming down her face. Villanelle’s eyes become glossy at the sight.

“What are you apologizing for?” Villanelle asks, quietly. She gets up and goes to Eve’s side. “I’m here with you until you heal, and then beyond then.” She searches Eve’s eyes. “I’m here for . . .” she brushes a tear away with her thumb and then cradles Eve’s cheek, “. . . for as long as you’ll have me. And I _like_ washing your hair. I would still do it after you were better—if you would let me.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden,” Eve chokes, still holding back a flood of tears.

Villanelle pulls Eve close and hugs her. She steals a kiss to Eve’s forehead. “I would do anything for you, Eve,” she says, “of my own free will.” And then, “How about this,” she asks, “Why don’t you drink your coffee while I run you a bath?”

Eve nods into Villanelle’s shoulder. She wants exactly that—all of those things. The concept of a bath (rather than a shower) sounds calming and warm, to her. She breathes a “thank you” into the warmth of Villanelle’s neck, and then she doesn’t let go for a while longer.

**

Villanelle fills the bathtub with hot water and adds Epsom salt, and then she calls for Eve.

She trusts that Eve is well enough to undress and get in the bath by herself, so she waits outside.

Eve steps into the bath with full appreciation for the care Villanelle took to add lavender Epsom salt, and the water warms her from the outside in. She pulls her knees to her chest when she sits, and then she calls, “Come in!”

Villanelle slowly pushes the door open, and then she comes to Eve’s side, hanging onto the side of the bath and crouching over the floor.

“Is it too cold?” Villanelle asks with worry, because Eve has both of her arms across her chest and she’s holding her forearms tightly.

“No,” Eve says with a small smile, “it’s perfect.”

“Are you hiding?” Villanelle asks. She shakes her head, scolding herself internally for not knowing what to say, and then she starts over. “You can stay like this—whatever makes you comfortable,” she says. But deep down, she wonders if Eve is scared of her, still, even after all the things they have been through. She loves Eve, and she believes that Eve loves her endlessly, in turn. She remembers wrapping Eve in towels and helping Eve off of the floor when she fell, and she doesn’t understand why Eve is hiding from her, now, after everything. Even still, she wants Eve to feel safe, and she thinks that’s more important than anything else.

“I don’t feel good about myself, lately,” Eve whispers. She notices that Villanelle is so close and patient. She admires the hazel in Villanelle’s eyes, even though the bathroom is somewhat dark and yellow-tinted. “I’ve just been eating and sleeping for weeks, in the hospital,” Eve says. She squeezes her hands on her forearms while she speaks. “I haven’t been walking around, I haven’t had anything physical to—”

“—Oh, _Eve_ ,” Villanelle whispers.

Eve could swear it sounds nothing like Villanelle. The tenderness and gentleness is brand new, and it sends chills down her spine.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” Villanelle says. Her accent is heavy, but her voice stays soft.

Eve swims in Villanelle’s glossy eyes. She listens.

“They told us about this in the nursing school class,” Villanelle tells her. “Patients feel weak because of all the things they can’t do on their own. Over time, it hurts their self-esteem. But I will go for walks with you. Soon enough, you will be lifting weights, even with your bad arm,” Villanelle says, and she lets her fingertips glide over Eve’s shoulder. “But you have not become any less beautiful, or any less wonderful, in any way.”

Eve lets her hands fall, and then she hangs onto the side of the tub, close to where Villanelle is.

“Can I look at you?” Villanelle asks, quietly.

The question holds so much weight, it seems, after she’s given Eve so many other showers where the pair were forced to carry the awkwardness associated with nudity. Villanelle was always staring at walls and corners to help Eve feel comfortable, and Eve was always hiding, both women always feeling the need to protect each other. Villanelle asking to look in a deliberate way could free them both from the longstanding discomfort.

Eve nods. She watches Villanelle’s gaze slip down and down and down. She notes that Villanelle is slow, when she would have expected Villanelle to be eager. Her skin feels burning hot under Villanelle’s gaze, nonetheless.

Villanelle allows her eyes to flit downward. She looks at Eve’s neck, and Eve’s small, strong shoulders. She admires the curves of Eve’s breasts and the smallest part of Eve’s waist. And she appreciates the lovely, olive color of Eve’s skin.

“ _Eve_ ,” Villanelle breathes, and then she lifts her gaze and looks into Eve’s eyes. “You are even more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.” She looks at Eve’s mouth, and then she kneels down to get herself even closer, and then she kisses Eve.

Eve kisses Villanelle back. Her hand caresses Villanelle’s cheek. She smells lavender and she melts into Villanelle’s tender kiss. Eve feels more cherished and worthy than she has felt in a long time…

Until she hears a key turn the lock to the door of the house. Until she hears a gruff, familiar voice call, “Eve?” And until she hears slow, even footsteps coming up the stairs.

Eve is in the bath, and Villanelle is with her, and her husband is home. Suddenly, everything feels awful.

Panic spreads across Eve’s face. Her eyebrow furrows and with her expression, alone, she begs Villanelle to help her figure this out.

“I’ll tell him to wait a few minutes,” Villanelle says, and before Eve can argue, Villanelle is gone from the bathroom.

Eve listens and she hears Villanelle say, “Hi, Niko.” And then she hears Villanelle explain that “Eve is having a bath and she will be out in a few minutes—” or something of the sort. Villanelle’s explanation is cut short because then Eve hears heavy footsteps pad quickly across the carpet of the bedroom, and then Eve hears a stinging slap that stops Villanelle from carrying on speaking, followed by Villanelle’s gasp in pain. And then she hears Villanelle being slammed against the other side of the bathroom wall, and Niko is yelling, and Villanelle is struggling.

Eve appears in the bedroom, almost immediately, with a white bathrobe tied around her. She screams, “Stop it, get off of her!” And Eve uses brute force to charge Niko and push on his shoulder, throwing him off of Villanelle.

Niko pauses. He looks at Villanelle, and then he looks at Eve.

“What the hell?!” Niko bellows.

“Why are you home?” Eve cuts in, loud and strong.

“I’m home because the hospital informed me that you’ve been discharged, and I thought I ought to check on my wife.” And then he becomes more impatient. “What is _she_ doing here?”

“Villanelle has been taking care of me and helping me get better,” Eve says. She keeps the statement simple—not to dismiss everything Villanelle means to her, but because she doesn’t feel the need to justify herself to Niko. Eve feels sick to her stomach with protectiveness over Villanelle, who stays near the wall and stays quiet.

“I thought that she shot you in the back!” Niko argues.

“Things aren’t always as simple as they seem, Niko—”

“—Nothing’s simple, Eve, is it?!” Niko yells. His roar is deafening when he yells, “Gemma is dead, and you’ve been shot, and now the same _psycho_ who caused all of this is in our home, having a bath with my _wife_!”

Eve charges Niko, again, punching his stomach with her right arm and pushing him back. It’s only when he stumbles backwards that she remembers her current condition, and how her right arm has just largely recovered. Her vindictiveness quickly melts to a guttural screech of pain, and then she holds her own arm and steadies herself so that she may address Niko, again.

“I want you to _leave_ ,” Eve says. “We are over!” she tells him. “We will work out the details, later.” And then she becomes even more stern. “And don’t you _ever_ touch her again!”

Niko shakes his head, all other arguments lost to the fact that he knows Eve will defend Villanelle, no matter what. He makes his way down the stairs and out the door with hurried footsteps and slams the front door closed.

Eve’s focus immediately falls to Villanelle, over by the wall. She shakes—more with overwhelm than with fear. Her left cheek is red from where Niko hit her, and she looks at the floor for moments longer before she looks up to evaluate Eve’s condition.

“Did he hurt you?” Eve asks, quietly. She brings herself over to where Villanelle is, and with her right arm needing to rest, she reaches diagonally and uses the back of her left hand to stroke Villanelle’s cheek.

Villanelle finds herself flinching at the contact, and even she is surprised that it stings so terribly. When the initial shock subsides, she takes Eve’s hand, intertwines their fingers and presses Eve’s hand to her face.

“Baby,” Eve says, then, “why didn’t you hurt him?” She knows that Villanelle is capable of anything, that she could have snapped Niko’s neck while he took threatening steps towards her. If not that, Eve _knows_ that Villanelle could have kept herself from being shoved into the wall, afterwards. Villanelle could have hurt or killed Niko at any moment.

“That was our first rule, Eve. I cannot break it. I promised you that I would never hurt him.” Villanelle refers to the first time she spoke with Eve, downstairs in the kitchen.

Eve nods and starts to cry. She feels overwhelmed with everything that just unfolded, and she hates the idea that Villanelle got hurt because of her own life choices. She wishes that Villanelle was not in the middle, or that she separated from Niko earlier on, or that Villanelle had at least defended herself. Eve releases her hand from Villanelle’s and rests her forehead against Villanelle’s shoulder. She hugs Villanelle’s waist and lets her tears fall.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Eve says. “That was completely my fault. And I hope you would defend yourself if anything like this happened again—which it won’t,” she says. She tells Villanelle, “Self-defense is the exception to that rule. Or to _anything_ I could ever ask of you. You should never suffer abuse, Villanelle.”

Villanelle brings her hands to Eve’s upper back, hugging Eve close to herself. “I am okay, Eve. I will defend myself, if I need to, but I don’t want to hurt people, anymore.”

Eve smiles a melancholy sort of smile into Villanelle’s shoulder. She admires how Villanelle has become caring. She thinks of Rita and knows that Villanelle is starting a new journey—one where she may be able to help people.

“Is your arm okay?” Villanelle asks.

The question breaks Eve’s trance. “Yeah,” Eve says. “I’ll be careful with it, but I think it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Villanelle breathes. Then, Villanelle gasps and recalls, “You chose me, Eve.” She subconsciously holds Eve even tighter. “You defended me when he called me a psycho, and you told him not to hurt me, and you _chose_ me.”

Eve pulls back and looks at Villanelle. “ _Yes_ ,” she says, “and I will choose you every time.” She kisses Villanelle. “You are not a ‘psycho’, and I’m proud of you for how you took care of Rita and how you’re taking care of me. You’re a good person.”

“Thank you, Eve,” Villanelle responds. It’s all she can say—and yet, she means it. She looks at Eve for what feels like a long time. The moments that pass feel peaceful, and Villanelle feels like her heart is full. When the moment passes, she offers, “How about your bath?”

“Haven’t even gotten my hair wet, yet!” Eve jokes. After everything that happened, she should be more fatigued and upset, but she’s not. Villanelle makes it seem impossible to be upset or scared about anything.

**

Villanelle warms up the bath for Eve, and this time, she takes Eve’s hand and helps Eve into the bath. The sentiment is chivalrous and loving; Eve doesn’t need help, but gladly takes Villanelle’s hand.

Eve submits herself to the instructions Villanelle gives during the bath. “Get your hair wet,” and “Lean back,” and even, “Cover your eyes,” because Villanelle doesn’t want Eve to get soap in them.

While Villanelle labors over Eve’s hair, massaging the shampoo and conditioner out of Eve’s hair while Eve lies down in the bath, Eve watches her lover work with concentration and a furrowed brow. She admires how careful Villanelle is, and how soft but confident her voice is, when Villanelle tells her what to do. When she isn’t following instructions, she’s closing her eyes or looking at the ceiling. She feels so loved, like she doesn’t have to focus on anything. She relaxes while Villanelle takes care of her.

At the end, Villanelle helps Eve stand up. She takes Eve’s hand again, guiding Eve out of the bathtub. She wraps Eve in a soft, white towel.

Eve finds herself suddenly speaking. “Niko would—Sorry,” she cuts herself off, “I promise I won’t bring him up too often . . .” Eve says.

“What is it?” Villanelle asks.

“I was just going to say that Niko would never do this. Not any of it, probably.” She shrugs. “He would probably expect me to cook and clean. He wouldn’t be willing to help me with things like this.” She pauses and pictures how it would be. “I think if I was really lucky, he would drive me to work.”

Villanelle brings her hand up and strokes Eve’s jaw with her thumb. “Then I’m even more glad that you’re with me, because I will help you with anything, at any time.” She picks up one of Eve’s curls, which is still dripping wet. “You’re worth everything, Eve Polastri. I love you.”

Eve is grateful for the admission of love; for the way her full name sounds on Villanelle’s tongue. Eve is grateful when Villanelle’s lips catch hers in a slow, tender kiss. Eve is grateful when Villanelle pulls her in and holds her, despite her wet hair.

“I love you, too, Oksana.”

Eve spoke this into Villanelle’s ear, and Villanelle’s eyes fluttered closed, and she exhaled a slow, steady breath.

“I’m so excited to make meals for you, Eve. I can cook for you, and we can go for walks, and I will hold you while you fall asleep.”

Eve had nearly forgotten that she can sleep in her own bed, now, let alone have Villanelle with her. She feels elated with all of the possibilities to come. She knows that Villanelle will take care of her, and she wants to care for Villanelle, as well.

“That sounds perfect,” Eve whispers, and then she peppers Villanelle’s cheek with gentle kisses.

Eve’s stomach betrays her by growling, loud enough for both women to hear.

“How about we start with the meals?” Eve says.

Villanelle giggles. She picks Eve up, and she carries Eve to the bed. She picks out loungewear for Eve to dress in while Eve sits and assesses her options. Then, the two have a giddy conversation about what cuisine sounds the best for Villanelle to prepare.


End file.
